


hold me

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [102]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine the conversation in 4x05 between jamie and Claire when jamie returns home





	hold me

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/180758220138/imagine-the-conversation-in-4x05-between-jamie-and) on tumblr

He had done as she had asked – held her, and held her, and held her.

Though after about two minutes on the front porch, he had gently pulled back to look at her, hands strong and steady on her shaking shoulders. Mindful of her ice-cold hands and streaming nose.

“I will be right back, *a graidh*,” he said slowly, eyes meeting hers. “It’s too cold out here for ye to be just in yer shift. Please go back inside. I need to tell Ian to get everything sorted, and to give us privacy.”

She swallowed, eyes still shining with tears. “All right.”

He quickly kissed her forehead, gently pushed her back toward the open door, and raced back to the wagon, heedless of the tricorne hat flying off his head and settling near the sow’s pen yet again.

When he returned a few minutes later and bolted the door shut behind him, he quickly surveyed the inside of the cabin. Nothing out of the ordinary – new bunches of plants drying from the rafters, a used cookpot sitting beside the fire, waiting to be washed –

And Claire sitting bolt upright against the pillows of their bed, his rifle laying quietly on the quilt beside her.

She spoke, then, eyes blank, the warm glow of sunrise crowning her with light as he quickly removed his coat, folded the scarf she had so proudly knit for him, slipped out of his boots. Not once did he interrupt her litany of terror and horror – knowing full well how healing it was to just get the words out, in the presence of the one person with whom it was safe to be so vulnerable.

Clad only in his shirt and socks, Jamie gently lifted the rifle – wrinkling his nose at the scent of gunpowder, his heart sinking at the weight of it and knowing it was fully primed and loaded – and set it on the dining table he and Ian had hewn for her.

Finally then he peeled back the covers on the outside of the bed – closer to the door, to protect her while they slept – and took his place beside her.

Never once had her voice wavered. She was cold, factual. Describing the events and emotions as if they had happened to someone else.

A log crackled in the hearth – and the air changed in the room. Something musky and earthy wafted from the clumps of herbs tied to the ceiling. For a flash he was back beside her in that monk’s cell at the abbey, both of them clad in white, wrestling with the aftermath of something terrible.

“I don’t want you to think that this means you can’t ever leave me alone here.” He watched her right hand – so naked without a ring – trace the edges of a cheerily colored quilt square. “With Clarence to warn me, and Rollo to protect me – and the rifle, too – I’ll be fine. Our home will be fine.”

“But – ”

“Don’t think you can go all Scottish warrior on me. I protected myself – and I can protect myself again. I don’t fear the Cherokee – they recognized me, and honored you by not harming me.”

He swallowed. Reached to grab her hand on the quilt.

“I couldn’t help but think, Jamie – yet again, what we have here could be ripped away at any moment. Whether disease, or fire, or the actions of other people despite what they think are the best of intentions.”

Now he squeezed her hand. “What do ye want to do?”

He turned his body toward hers; she sank against his chest, head on his shoulder, cold forehead against his warm, safe neck.

“We need to make contact with the Cherokee somehow. I want – I want to honor Adawehi in some way. Or at least speak to her granddaughter-in-law.”

“Aye – that would be good. I can accompany ye to the village. What else?”

She sighed, snaking her arms around his side. “I don’t think there’s anything we can actually do, about the rest of it. Not at least until we have more people around, who would be closer to the cabin. Who we could turn to in time of need, should it happen again.” She paused. “Did you have any luck finding settlers?”

“Ian and I couldna find a single one.”

Her brow furrowed. “You sound surprisingly cheery in light of that news.”

He held her tighter. “Two pieces of news, Sassenach. One short, one much longer. Which do you prefer?”

The sunbeams now slanted straight through the windowpane and into their faces. She nudged Jamie’s side, and he brought them down onto her pillow, face to face. He pushed her back up against the wall, laying long and strong on her other side, arms splayed on her back. So that she knew she was protected.

She smiled, just a bit. “The short one first, if you please.”

He grinned. “Weel – in between meetings, I made enquiries for a blacksmith. Found a silversmith first – except he wasna home at the time.”

One dark brow raised. “So…”

His grin widened. “So the smith’s wife said, she didna ken when her husband would return – but that I was most welcome to come inside for a slice of pie.”

Claire snorted. “Did she? And what did you say to *that*?”

“That my wife was waiting for me at home. And that she makes the verra best pie in the world.”

She kissed his smiling mouth, then – and quickly it became something more. What with the time they had been apart, and the tangle of confused emotions they had both felt in each other’s absence, Jamie would have wanted nothing more than to love his wife in the sunrise, on the bed he had built and in the cabin he had built, watching the play of light on her hair and the features of her face as she lost herself to him.

But when she tugged his shoulders in an attempt to bring him atop her, he stilled.

“Jamie? What is it?”

He sat up beside her, formally taking her hands in his. Thumbs stroking the backs of her hands – dry and cracked with the cold, and from her labors to build their home.

“Claire. I have the most wonderful news.”

“But you said you didn’t find settlers – I don’t understand – ”

“After I refused the silversmith’s wife, I went to the blacksmith.”

She pushed up onto one elbow, brows raised skeptically. “So…”

“The blacksmith. It’s Murtagh.”

Somehow she leapt into his arms, and he held her again, shrieking with joy.


End file.
